by Ashe Barker
This time it was different, more profound. But…yes, it was good. While it was happening. And now, I feel refreshed, stronger, empowered, somehow.
And…desperate to come.
“Josh,” I begin.
“Front or back?” he asks with a knowing grin.
“Front.” My backside is still a long way from being ready to take my weight.
He helps me to get in position, on all fours. We are on one of the double beds in the private lounges, and I notice that he has placed a dildo and a tube of lubricant on the table beside the mattress. I turn to look at him, the question surely plain across my features.
“You’ll be having both holes filled. Your choice whether the plastic is in your arse or your pussy.”
My lower abdomen clenches. Fresh moisture pools. I manage to swipe my tongue over my dry lips. “I want your cock in my arse,” I manage.
He reaches for the toy and the lube, and I wonder if he’s going to ask me to prepare it and push it inside me. He doesn’t.
I watch him slowly coat the thick dildo with the gel, then, still on all fours, I spread my knees apart as far as I am able.
Josh is seated on the edge of the bed, and he gently parts my pussy lips to place the tip of the toy at my entrance. He’s chosen a large one, but I wouldn’t want anything smaller, easier. I am greedy for this. Desperate for the sensation of being filled, stretched, pushed to the point of shattering.
“Do you want this?” he asks me.
I do. I surely do. “Yes,” I reply. “Please.”
“Then, ask me.”
I don’t hesitate. “Please, push it inside me. As far as it will go.”
Josh obliges me. My body opens to accept the hard intruder, stretching and wrapping itself around the several generous inches of white silicon.
“How does that feel?” he asks me.
“Good,” I murmur, the understatement of the decade.
“And this?”
I let out a shriek as the toy bursts into life inside me, pulsating and throbbing and creating the most delicious ripples that seem to roll out to my fingers and toes.
“Better?”
I manage a nod, vaguely conscious that he is already lubing up his cock.
“Hurry,” I demand, “I want to come with you inside me.”
“On it.” He kneels behind me and inserts a slick finger into my arse.
I almost orgasm there and then but manage to somehow clamp down on my arousal. I let out a grateful sigh when he, at last, sinks his lubed cock balls-deep in my arse.
I squeeze with all my inner muscles, seeking as much friction as I can find. The toy buzzes and hums, and Josh pulls out halfway, readying himself, and me, for another hard stroke.
I moan when he drives his cock deep again. Did anything, ever, in the entire history of humanity, feel quite so good? Quite so sublime?
I love you…
The words echo in my head, but all I can manage to get past my throat are inarticulate moans and grunts, each smooth stroke of his cock in my arse driving me higher, closer, My orgasm is so close I can almost taste it.
Josh kneels upright, bringing me with him. My back is pressed against his chest, and my body feels impossibly full, stretched to breaking, impaled, every nerve ending quivering with life. I snake my arm up and loop it around his neck to anchor myself, then sigh when he squeezes my pebbled nipples between his fingers, first one, then the other.
Josh takes my free arm and places my palm over my breast, his intention clear. I am to take over. I do, and he is free to tease my clit.
The first, light brush of his finger across the tip of my swollen nubbin sends me flying into orbit.
The next rub, just a little harder, recaptures my senses, urges me to regather my wits, then lets me fly again.
He teases a third climax from me. A fourth.
“No more,” I plead, exhausted.
“Trust me,” is his response.
I come again, breathless, panting, my pussy convulsing wildly around the toy cock.
“Josh,” I croak, unable to take any more. “Sir…”
“I think you can manage one more for me, sweetheart.” He kisses my neck at the same time squeezing and tugging on my over-sensitised clit. “Come for me, girl.”
I obey, helpless to do anything else, mewling with the brutal ecstasy of it as I pour the last of my subspace-induced potency into one final effort.
“Good girl,” he mutters, moments before the heat of his semen fills me and we both go still.
“That was…epic.” I lay my head back against the car seat. “It’s never been like that before. So…intense.”
Josh starts the engine. “I know. I was there.”
I think, briefly, of my audience this evening. “You weren’t the only one,” I reply. “Do you think I’m a closet exhibitionist?”
He grins across at me as he manoeuvres the Audi out of the car park and into the deserted road. It’s after two in the morning. There’s hardly any traffic about at this time. “Nothing closet about it, Libby.”
“Oh God,” I moan, embarrassed. “So, they all saw me drop out of it like that?”
“Yup. And the ones who didn’t had to listen to me telling them what was happening. Apart from anything else, I had to explain why I wasn’t using the tawse after all.”
“You didn’t use it? I thought we agreed…”
“We did, but once you were off with the fairies, there was no conscious consent anymore, and my job was to take care of you, not entertain the crowd. They got good value, even so. A lesson in subspace and aftercare.”
“Glad to have been of service,” I mutter.
He looks across at me, his expression serious now. “Would you do it again? Knowing how you might react?”
“Would you want me to?”
“Hell, yes. It was hot, and like you said, intense.”
“Not to mention good for trade. I bet Heidi was pleased.”
“She’s not complaining. But it’s what you want that matters, Libby. If you enjoyed it and want to play that way again, with people watching, well, I’m in.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Sure.” He reaches for my hand, squeezes it. “You know I love you, don’t you?”
“Don’t ever leave me,” I whisper.
He slows for traffic lights, pulls on the handbrake, and turns to face me. “Where did that come from?”
I shake my head. I can’t explain. My insecurity makes no sense, even to me. “Just don’t,” I repeat. Please.”
“I tried that once. It was the biggest mistake of my life. I’m going nowhere, Libby.”
“You promise.”
He quirks his lip. “You know what they say. A Dom is for life.”
A horn sounds behind us. A taxi driver with better things to do than sit at a green light while the couple in front swear undying Dominance and submission, no doubt. Josh raises his hand in a friendly wave and pulls away.
I lie back, my eyes closed, utterly spent. But content at last.
Chapter 15
Josh
“Come in?”
I glance up from the paperwork I was hoping to get out of the way before she arrived. Libby pops her head around my office door.
“Am I early?”
I shake my head. “It’s me, running late.”
“I got you a coffee,” she says, placing the polystyrene cup on my desk. “Three-shot latte, right?”
“Right.” I take a swig of the aromatic caffeine overload, and sigh as the hit registers, then I gesture to the stack of leave request forms in front of me. It’s getting close to Christmas, the busiest time at the shopping centre, but needless to say, all of my team are clamouring for time off. “I’ll be ten minutes at the most. Do you mind?”
She kisses me on the mouth, then perches on the chair opposite and takes a delicate sip of her own drink. Tea, probably. Libby very rarely drinks coffee.
I watch her for a few moments, thinking back t
o that fateful afternoon so many months ago now, when she first sat on that very same chair, contrite and fearful over some meaningless bottle of perfume. Except, it wasn’t meaningless. As it has turned out, that perfume changed my life.
I have it still, in my filing cabinet. The evidence that I was supposed to turn over to the police along with the suspect, now elevated to the status of a trophy, of sorts. Or a keepsake.
Who knew I could be so sentimental?
It occurs to me that I really should pay for it myself, otherwise I’m no better than a thief.
I dismiss that notion for now and put my pen away. The holiday forms will still be here this afternoon. I promised Libby lunch.
“What do you fancy to eat?” I ask her as we exit the office.
“I’m easy. Pizza? Pasta?”
“Do you fancy trying Thai, for a change? There’s a new place just opened in the food court. Every sort of noodle you can imagine.”
“Sounds lovely. I’m anyone’s for a noodle, you know that.” She reaches for my hand, and we stroll towards the escalator which will take us down to the ground floor.
It’s mid-December, and the main arcade is teeming with people doing their Christmas shopping and drinking in the seasonal vibe. All around, the stores have their Christmas decorations up, each trying to outdo the next. Reindeer dangle from the balcony, snowmen wave from the light fittings, Santa Claus has set up shop outside the so-called factory where little kids can make their own teddy bears. We even have a flock of penguins wearing scarves and singing Away in a Manger in falsetto voices. They always make me grin, though what they really have to do with Christmas escapes me.
The centre always has a fabulous Nativity scene on display. Life-size Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus, shepherds, the lot. Usually it’s at the far end of the main parade, but this year the powers that be decided to erect the tableau right in the middle of the food court, as though this area wasn’t already crowded enough.
Libby and I stop to look at it.
“Are they waxwork models?” she whispers.
I shrug, though I suppose they must be. “Not my department. I just make sure no one swipes the gold, frankincense, or myrrh.”
“What’s myrrh?” she asks.
I give her a dig in the ribs. “Stop asking silly questions. Come on, we have noodles to—”
BANG.
Time stops.
Actually… stops.
There’s a moment of stunned silence, then the screaming starts. Mothers grab for their children, shoppers abandon their bags and dive for cover.
A gunshot. I’d recognise that sound anywhere. I’ve heard it often enough. Acting on instinct, I drag Libby down with me, and we crouch behind the manger. It’s made of papier-mâché. No match for a bullet. I scan the mall for a better place to hide, at the same time reaching into my pocket for my phone.
I hit the three nines. The operator comes on at once, and I tell her we need an Armed Response Team at the Hunter’s Gate Centre. “Shots fired. Correction, shot.”
“Are there casualties?” she asks me, as though this sort of thing happens every day.
“Unknown,” I reply.
“How many gunmen?”
“Also unknown. Just one shot so far.” I wince as the crack of gunfire ricochets around the arcade once more and the screaming starts up again. “Make that two.”
Shots ring out again, three this time, in rapid succession. It’s enough to give me a fix on where they are coming from.
“Just one gunman, I think. Located on the mezzanine floor overlooking the food court.”
“Armed Response Team is on the way sir. You can expect them to be with you in approximately eleven minutes. Can you give me your name?”
Eleven minutes? It might as well be a lifetime. It might yet turn out to be.
I rattle off my personal details and my role here at Hunter’s Gate.
“Do you have the shooter in sight, Mr Novak?” she asks me.
I signal to Libby to stay down, and I venture a quick peep around the edge of the Nativity scene. I take in at a glance the carnage that was just a few minutes ago my lovely, orderly arcade.
Everywhere, people are huddled together. As many as could manage it are hiding beneath the tables. Others cower in stores and doorways. The floor is strewn with abandoned packages, shopping forgotten as frantic, terrified people fled for their lives.
A baby is crying close by, the mother desperately trying to quieten the little one.
I edge farther out, far enough to get a view of the mezzanine above.
One figure stands there, rifle against his shoulder. He’s smaller than I expected, below average height and quite slight in build. He’s wearing black jeans and a dark-coloured hoodie, the hood pulled up to half conceal his face. He swings the weapon slowly back and forth, the motion ominous, as though searching for someone. Something.
I heave a relieved sigh. At least it’s not a murderous religious sect armed with machetes and machine guns, killing at random.
Not that this is much better, but still…
I scuttle back out of sight and jam my phone to my ear again. “Visual on the attacker. One person, on the mezzanine. I’d say he has a hunting rifle…” How much more lethal would an automatic be? Spraying bullets indiscriminately, mowing down any caught in the way. The casualties would be horrific. Women, children. The elderly…
A movement to my right catches my eye. It’s Trevor. He emerges from a store specialising in beauty products and peers around the glass frontage to take in the scene in the arcade. Somewhere close to him, a young woman crouches with a toddler. She starts to edge his way.
I move back to get a view of the gunman. He sees the young woman, too, and levels his rifle at her.
“Stay down. Don’t move,” I yell. “Everybody, just stay down and remain calm.”
The rifle swerves back in my direction, but I duck out of sight again.
“Who said that?” the shooter on the balcony yells across the arcade, now eerily silent but for the occasional sobs and moans.
I open my mouth to answer, but Trevor beats me to it.
“Me,” he shouts. “Security.”
“Show yourself,” the shooter demands.
There’s something about that voice…
I shake my head, signalling to Trevor to stay put. He obeys my silent command.
“Show yourself, Mr Security, or I start shooting again.”
Trevor and I exchange a puzzled glance. We’re both wondering where we’ve heard that voice recently. We have just a few moments in which to try to remember, then another shot causes a fresh round of pandemonium.
There are screams of agony. They don’t stop. I’ve heard cries like those in the past, in Afghanistan, and in Iran. Someone has been hit.
“For fuck’s sake, stop. I’m coming out…”
Before I can instruct him otherwise, Trevor steps out into the arcade, in full view of the maniac on the mezzanine. His hands are raised. He looks up at the balcony, makes eye contact with the sniper.
“You,” he exclaims. The next bullet slams into his chest, and he crumples.
“Oh God…” Libby is sobbing. “They…they shot him. Is he…?”
Dead? I don’t answer her, but I know that he is. And what’s more, in the final moment, Trevor appeared to recognise his attacker.
“That ART better get here quick,” I snarl into my phone. “We have at least two casualties, one a fatality.”
“They are less than two minutes away,” comes the calm response.
I shudder. We need the armed police, but I dread the carnage that will likely erupt the moment our sniper realises what is happening. A lot of innocent people could be killed or injured in the time it will take to bring the shooter down.
“Everyone is to get out,” the shooter shouts. “I’m not interested in them. Only security.”
I’m baffled. “What do you mean? Explain.” I yell the words as loud as I can.
“Like I sa
id, the public can leave. Just security are to stay.”
“Why?” I demand.
“Because I said so. Who is this, anyway?” the shooter asks. “Come out and show yourself.”
One glance at Trevor’s lifeless body is enough to convince me of the absolute folly of any such move. Blood pools beneath him. His eyes are open, glazed, empty.
“You just killed one of my men,” I counter. “Why would I trust you?”
“You have no choice, or people start dying.”
“Okay. Okay, we’ll talk. You and me. But you have to let the others go.”
Libby clutches my arm. “No. You can’t…”
I kiss her. “Trust me, I have an idea.”
She shakes her head but says nothing more.
“Can you assure me that it’s safe for the people trapped in here to move to the exits?” I shout.
“You heard me,” comes the response. “Only security have to stay.”
I’m still trying to process where I’ve heard that voice before but have even more pressing matters on my mind. I put the three nines call on hold and speed dial the CCTV control room situated in the room next door to my office. “Are you getting all of this?”
“Sure, boss. And recording.”
“Where are our team?”
“Various locations, boss. Scattered around the food court.”
“Relay the command. They are to remain out of sight. Repeat, they do not show themselves. One glimpse of a uniform, and he’ll open fire again.”
“Got that, boss. But the gunman isn’t a he. It’s a she.”
“What? A woman?” I kick myself. I should have recognised that possibility when I saw the slight build. And the voice sounded odd because it’s a woman’s voice. It sounded incongruous, but it’s all so obvious now.
“We have close-up, sir. Definitely a female. And we’re still checking against police databases, but it looks like that child abductor from a few weeks ago.”
I pause, let that sink in. Christina Kelly? It makes some sort of sense, then, that she would target my security team. We were the ones who foiled her plan to be a mother. We apprehended her and took the child back. I suppose, in some sort of twisted logic, if it is Christina, she could have convinced herself that we are to blame for her loss.
